We'll get there in the end
by daleksanddetectives
Summary: Six times they almost get it right, one time it was almost perfect.


Fic for a pic by mhimsa

post/50209582175

* * *

1.

It had taken quite a bit of convincing, but John had allowed Sherlock to keep the radio on _just this once_, while they had sex, in case a new case popped up.

Sherlock has only just pushed inside John, who has his legs wrapped tightly around Sherlock's hips. They moan together, mostly ignoring the radio in favour of plundering each other's mouths and mapping each other's bodies.

John's ear twitches and he's suddenly pulled away from thoughts of Sherlock. He tucks his head into Sherlock's neck and laughs when he realises what song the DJ had chosen next;

_All the single ladies, now put your hands up! _

"I'm so sorry," John laughs, "I just can't, please, turn it off."

"What?" Sherlock lifts himself to be face to face with John.

He snickers again, "turn the radio off; I just can't with this song."

Sherlock groans and dramatically flops forward onto John's stomach.

2.

Sherlock had settled in between John's spread knees, leaning down and teasing John's lips open with his own while his hands mapped the contours of John's chest. He feels John smile into the kisses and pulls John's legs around his own waist. They're both naked, aside from the blue shirt draped around John's shoulders.

The kisses deepen, and eventually Sherlock pulls away with a sly grin. He pulls John's legs up to rest on his own shoulders, rubbing his hips against John's backside. He presses forward, pulling John's hips onto his lap, leaning down for another kiss when-

"Sherlock!" John yelps.

Sherlock immediately backs off, worried he'd hurt him somehow,

"I don't bend that bloody far," he groans, rubbing at his thigh and pulling his legs down from Sherlock's shoulders.

Sherlock sits back and frowns.

3.

John stands in the centre of the room, watching Sherlock prowl towards him.

He pliantly allows Sherlock to remove his jumper, his shirt, and when he gets to his belt, John helps by shimmying out of his jeans, letting his pants fall with them. Eventually he's left stark naked in the centre of the living room, Sherlock still fully dressed and kneeling in front of him, a predatory grin on his face.

He puts his hands on John's hips, pressing his nose into his groin. John grabs two handfuls of Sherlock's hair, not pulling too hard, and closing his eyes.

He realises after a moment that Sherlock hasn't moved. He looks down to see Sherlock glaring at the floor, his shoulders shaking slightly.

"Sherlock? Are you okay?"

Sherlock snaps his head up, "_leg cramp_, John. Do something. _Make it stop_."

John sighs, patting Sherlock's head, "give it a minute, it'll be fine."

4.

The next time they try it, they've managed to get to Sherlock's bed. John is sat up against the headboard, his fingers threaded through Sherlock's hair, slightly longer than usual.

Sherlock nuzzles John's stomach, gradually getting lower when John bursts out a giggle. John claps a hand over his mouth.

"I'm glad I seem to be amusing you, John."

"It's not that, it's," he giggles again, "Sherl—look I'm sorry! It's your hair, it tickles."

Sherlock frowns and rests his cheek against John's inner thigh, "do you want me to do this or not?" He pouts.

"I'm sorry," John smiles, a few giggles still escaping when Sherlock's hair brushes his skin. He pulls at a few of his long curls, "shall I book you a haircut for this week?"

5.

It had taken a lot of poking and prodding to get Sherlock away from his laptop and into bed, but finally John had Sherlock above him, somewhat enthusiastically heading towards the blowjob John had been promised after the leg cramp and hair cut incidents.

John is settling himself into the pillows when Sherlock's phone begins to ring.

"Don't you dare," John growls, tightening his grip on Sherlock's shoulders.

"But what if it's Lestrade with a case? It could be important," he huffs.

"It could be the Queen of England for all I care, just finish what you've started and you can call whoever it is back later."

Sherlock narrows his eyes, but drops his head in between John's thighs, licking a teasing stripe halfway up his leg. John closes his eyes and settles back again, allowing himself to enjoy it.

And then Sherlock's weight is gone. John's eyes snap open to see Sherlock kneeling with his phone held to his ear, "Sherlock Holmes."

John breathes loudly through his nose, "are you fucking kidding me?"

6.

_Finally_, John thinks, _everything going perfectly._

They're tangled together on the bed, naked, and groping at each other. John is just about to roll Sherlock onto his back, beginning to imagine all the things he wants to do to him tonight when -_meow._

John opens his eyes and stares at Sherlock, who in turn opens his and glares, "why did you stop?" He demands.

"Did you... Did you just meow at me?"

Sherlock frowns, "of all the noises to make while kissing you, I would not meow at you, John."

"But I'm sure I heard a cat," John sits up, confused, "you haven't been letting in strays again have you?"

"Not since you berated me for letting that tabby in at Christmas," Sherlock says, following John to sitting position. He wraps his arms around John's shoulders to pull him back down to the bed, "now stop thinking about the imaginary cat and-"

_Meow._

"Again," John turns to look around the room, Sherlock's hands rest on his shoulders, "you heard that one didn't you?"

"Y…es?" Sherlock frowns again.

Together they turn their heads to see a large grey and white cat sat at the bottom of the bed, happily purring and preening its fur. They stare at it, slack jawed when it looks up and cocks its head to the left.

"Where the hell did that cat come from?" John finally says.

* * *

"Hey, Sherlock," John sits on the edge of the bed beside his partner, "come out of that head for a moment."

He smiles when Sherlock looks down at him, John moves a hand to rubs small circles between Sherlock's shoulder blades and leans into his side.

"You know it's common for things to go wrong, Sherlock. When you think about it, it's a pretty dangerous activity on its own."

Sherlock furrows his brow, "what do you mean?"

John kisses his forehead, ridding him of the worry lines, "two grown men fumbling around on one bed?" He laughs, "the sharp corners, slippery sheets? It's a wonder we don't injure ourselves all the time."

Sherlock is quiet for a moment, searching John's face. Finally he says, "so all that, it's all fine?"

John raises his hand to Sherlock's cheek, who leans into the touch, "yes, Sherlock. It's all fine." He raises his chin to kiss Sherlock deeply. Sherlock pushes at John's shoulders, gently lowering him onto his back and settling on John's chest.

John tries to turn his head when he hears a loud beeping from the kitchen, "hey, what's that noise?"

"_Nothing_, ignore it," Sherlock growls against John's throat, nipping at the skin.

John groans, throwing his head back, deciding to look for the origin of the noise after he's done with Sherlock.

Half an hour later, John finds himself dressed in just his boxers and sleeping t shirt, stood on the street outside Speedy's café with Sherlock wrapped in a bed sheet, as an odd smell pours from their flat and fumigators storm in and out of the three flats.

He sighs, "hazardous gases and men in hazmat suits do not count as _fine_, Sherlock."


End file.
